Amber
by The Moon on a String
Summary: As the sun melted into the horizon and the shadows elongated across the park, the Bogeyman was confronted by a little girl named Amber.


**Author's Notes:** So this is just a little idea that came into my head. It has nothing to do with my other stories. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Rating: **T for mentions of violence/abuse

**Summary**:As the sun melted into the horizon and the shadows elongated across the park, the Bogeyman was confronted by a little girl named Amber.

* * *

**Amber**

Nobody went to the far end of the park. There was just something about it. It was always so dark and menacing. Too gloomy for games such as frisbee and soccer.

Which is exactly what Pitch liked about the far end of the park. He could sit in solitude, watching everyone else. Not that anyone would confront him anyway, whether they could see him or not. Besides he was just waiting, sitting on the little wooden bench, for the sun to vanish and for the night to awake a whole new side of life. The night was his woman, and she was beautiful and deadly.

The waiting however was his enemy, bitter and loathsome. He had grown quite accustomed to it though.

His eyes lazily trailed around the park. Most people were packing up. Leaving. Humans weren't too fond of the dark. Too afraid of what was lurking in it. Wise of them.

One girl wasn't packing up or leaving. One girl in a little powder blue dress was wandering over to him. Or, to this side of the park. Her ginger hair was in two little pigtails that bounced as she made her merry way to the far side of the park. Her fair arms and face were dusted with freckles and her hazel eyes reflected nothing but curiousness.

_What is that child doing without a jacket?_ Pitch wondered before realising he didn't care.

But she kept coming closer. Closer and closer and closer until she was right next to him, peering up at him. But she couldn't have been looking at him._ Is there something behind me?_

"Hi."

He blinked. Was she talking to him? She stared up at him with her large, hazel eyes curiously, waiting for an answer. This little girl could see him just as well as she'd be able to see one of those troublesome Guardians. That was certainly different. Children never approached him.

"What do you want?" He grumbled disdainfully, giving her a cold glare. He tried to hard to sound uninterested when really, this was the first child he'd spoken to in centuries.

Her smile just widened. "I like your voice." She said sweetly.

Pitch raised a hairless brow. "Is that why you're bothering me? You wanted to hear me speak?"

"No, you're on my bench."

"_Your_ bench? Child, this bench belongs to the park and besides, I claimed this bench _long_ before you became your parents' worst mistake."

"My name's Amber."

"Lovely. Now, shoo." _Why can't the little brat just sod off already?_

"But I want to talk to you, mister."

"What? You want to—," he cleared his throat and flashed her a grin of sharp teeth. "How very sweet, dear, but do you really want to talk to the Bogeyman?"

The girl tipped her head to the side. "You're the Bogeyman?" She shook her head. "You don't look like him."

"Oh, I'm sorry and how is the Bogeyman _suppose_ to look, hm?" He asked sardonically.

"Well, big and scary and covered in bugs..." Amber paused, frowning. "You just look sad... and lonely."

_This child can't possibly know that_. "Well, you're wrong. This is what the Bogeyman looks like. I should know; I _am_ the Bogeyman."

"Prove it."

"You're afraid of mice and the deep end of swimming pools." Pitch said with skipping a beat. "And..." He stopped on the third fear, deciding he didn't want to voice that one; humans were just so sickening sometimes.

Her eyes got bigger if it were even possible. "Wow. You... you must be the Bogeyman."

He nodded. "Now that you've made your little discovery, why don't you go? It's getting awfully late and it's..." he glanced up, "oh, look, it's starting to snow as well."

The child followed his gazed and grinned happily. "Oh! Jack Frost has visited us!"

Pitch smirked. "He certainly has so you better get inside, dear, before it becomes too cold and dark for little girls like you."

She seemed to hesitate, turning her body slightly but pausing, as if contemplating something. "No... I think I'll stay out a little longer."

"What would your mother think?"

Amber gave him a puzzled look. "Mommy's in Heaven."

The Bogeyman looked away, grimacing. "Oh." He honestly didn't know what else to say about that. "Well, then, what about your father?"

She seemed to cower at the mentioning of her father. Pitch was reminded of her fears and narrowed his eyes. "Daddy said I could get lost in the snow for all he cared." She whispered, bottom lip trembling. "He says I'm a bad girl."

As Amber hugged her arms around herself, Pitch began to notice the finger-shaped bruises along her bare arms and just how pale and gaunt she really was. And he didn't like it.

_No child should have to suffer like that._

Tears fell down her pink cheeks and he silent cursed. _Oh, no, please don't cry. _Pitch looked around hastily before scooping the girl into his arms and sat her on his lap. "Don't cry, darling, please." He soothed awkwardly.

She latched her little arms around him and buried her face in his neck. The contact made him stiffen, freeze up entirely. This was way too close for his liking. But he had no other choice. He wasn't going to frighten the poor child away now. He'd done a lot of terrible things in his lifetime – a lot of horrific, unforgivable deeds – but sitting here now, holding this desperate little girl, he suddenly felt the urge to do the right thing. He was a monster, yes, but he just couldn't walk away from this. Well, he could but... he didn't want to. He wanted to help her. Maybe it was because she saw him.

Or maybe it was because he knew she was always so constantly afraid that she couldn't have _not_ seen him. This child shouldn't have to suffer like that. He had always relished in the idea of children suffering and being scared as a collective group but when it was just one little lonely and lost girl, he suddenly didn't like the idea as much anymore.

Sighing at himself, he rubbed a soft hand up and down her back. Now, what was his plan? Where could he take her? Certainly not to her father; that was simply out of the question. However, he'd have to pay a visit to Daddy later... But for now perhaps he could take her to an orphanage. Or maybe a hospital. She did not look healthy to him at all. But the police station seemed like a far better option. They could take her to the hospital if they needed to and they could look after her.

"Amber, why don't we go for a little walk?"

She sat back and sniffed. "To where?"

"Over to that building over there." Pitch pointed to the police station, a few blocks down the street.

"To the police station?"

"There are people there that can help you."

"I know."

He removed her from his lap and set her on the ground. "Shall we then?"

She took his hand and held it tightly, leaning into him. _The cold must really be getting to her._

He fashioned her a little cloak out of shadows, similar to his own. "There you go, my dear."

"Thank you, mister... um, I don't know you're name."

"I'm the Bogeyman."

"But you must have a name – everyone does. Oh, can I guess yours?"

"If you want to..." He shrugged as they began to walk.

She tapped her chin with her finger. "Is it... John?"

He snorted. "That's the best name you could think of?"

"Well, what about Billy? ...no? Or... Steve? Ben? Uh... Simon?"

"You'll never guess it at this rate."

"It's not Michael, is it?"

He noticed how her face paled when she mentioned that name. "Is... is that your father's name?" She nodded. "Well, it's not mine. My name is Pitch Black."

"Really? _Pitch? _That's a funny name..." She giggled. "Pitch Black. Like the shadows. That's good."

"I'm glad someone around here has a sense of humour."

He decided it was quicker if he was the one doing all the walking and lifted her from the ground, cradling her in his arms. This was the perfect excuse to hold the child close to him. It didn't take them much longer to reach the station. Once there, he set her on the cement steps and brushed her bangs from her face. She smiled warmly at him, her lovely eyes filled with complete gratitude and sincerity.

This little girl had almost melted his heart. Almost.

"Now, listen to me, Amber." Pitch said firmly, getting down on one knee and putting his hands on her shoulders. "I want you to go inside and tell the police you're lost. Tell them your father sent you away. Tell them your cold or hungry or whatever else you feel they need to know. Can you do that for me, darling?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And one more thing, promise me you'll never go back to your father. You can never let that happen. Trust me, you'll _never_ have to see him again."

"Thank you, Pitch." Amber threw her arms around him and pressed a kiss to his grey cheek. "I was always told the Bogeyman was a bad man but... you were just given a bad job."

Those words stunned him. He'd never had someone tell him that before. "I... um, thank you, Amber. Stay safe." Before he knew what he was doing, he hugged her back fiercely. "You don't have to be scared of your father anymore."

The child gave him one last hug before pulling away and running to the door to the police station. As she went inside, Pitch removed the shadow cloak from her shoulders so the police wouldn't be suspicious. He rose slowly and strolled down the steps, hands clasped behind his back. _Today's certainly been productive, hasn't it?_

He stopped in his tracks and realised who he promised to pay a visit to.

_Today's about to become a lot more productive..._

* * *

Michael Dweller pulled the last can of the six-pack out of the fridge and cracked it open. Shelley always hated his drinking... but Shelley wasn't there anymore so it didn't matter.

The faint voices of the TV were the only noises in the house. It was dark and quite late. Usually Amber was begging for a bedtime story at this time.

_I wonder where the little brat ran off to? Maybe she fell down a drain... _He peeked out the window at the heavy snow. _Or she's buried in a snowdrift._

"Hello, Michael..."

Michael swore, dropping his beer and whirling around to see a man covered in shadows standing in his kitchen.

"Jesus Christ! Who the hell are you?!"

The dark being grinned wickedly at him; the pure embodiment of fear and insanity. "You're worst nightmare..."

Poor Michael barely had time to scream before the monster lunged at him.

* * *

Michael Dwellers body the next day by the neighbours; skinned and impaled on the weathervane. The police said it was some psycho, but one little girl knew who really did. Though she'd never tell; no one would believe her.


End file.
